Page 79 of Sugar
Iwant to make her come.
I start moving again, thrusting into her, using my free hand to push her left leg higher until her knee floats above her ear. Her legs are open so wide I can see every inch of her, every inch ofme, as we move together.
It’s indecent. Obscene.
It pays off, because soon Ava’s tensing, arching like a crossbow off the bed. Her body clamps around mine, fluttering, teetering. And then she’s falling, screaming into a pillow, and I come so hard inside of her I nearly black out from the force of it.
It takes several minutes before either of us can move.
Several minutes to piece my mind back together.
Eventually, Ava calms down enough to let out a mumbled “Damn.”
Yeah, I agree. Damn.
I watch closely as I pull out of her, as my cum drips out with me.
I frown. That won’t do.
Using the same thumb I used on her, I sweep it all up to push it back inside, careful not to miss anything. When I’m done, my eyes lift to her stomach. To her watchful gaze.
Biology be damned, they’re both going to be mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AVA
Iwake to the sound of a distant hum, a whirring that sweeps against my mind and pulls me from dreams of saltwater kisses and sun-warmed sand. I know before I even open my eyes that Kasey’s not here, not in this bed or anywhere in the cabin. My heart can sense it: his absence. An emptiness I’d gotten so used to I almost forgot what it was to be full.
Until he made me remember.
Stretching lazily in a cocoon of blankets, I turn to the window where sunlight streams in across the room, wondering how long he’s been gone, if it’d been hard for him to leave. Did he kiss me on his way out? Does he have any regrets about what happened last night?
You’re going to make it good for me again, aren’t you?
My face instantly heats with a warmth that sinks all the way to my belly. I didn’t think I’d ever have Kasey again like that, and now that I have, I can’t imagine anything else. I dated other people after leaving Saddlebrook Falls—it took a while to open up to the idea, but eventually I did and life started to move on. A couple of boyfriends even made it past the six-month mark, andthen there was Tobias, of course, but even he only lasted a couple of years.
Still, no one ever compared to Kasey. Not even close.
At some point I started telling myself that no onecould, that my relationship with Kasey existed in the perilously beautiful vacuum that is young love, full of naivete and the intensity that only two kids with varying degrees of formed frontal lobes could possibly accomplish. So I’d stopped comparing anyone to him altogether. Figured, what was the point, if I’d never have something like it again anyway?
I didn’t anticipate Kasey asking himself the same question, but coming to a wildly different result.
I tried, a few times. But . . .
I swallow down a painful pang of regret. I can’t imagine Kasey was somehow waiting for me—he had no idea I’d ever come back. I shamefully left without so much as a note. No explanation. And yet . . .
I can’t help thinking about thealmosts, the girls who were turned away. How far did things get before veering off track? Did he try to bring girls home? Did they make it into this bed? Did he stop, mid-kiss, and change his mind? Did he politely drive any of them home, walk them to their front door with a quiet, sullen apology?
I groan, pulling a pillow over my face as the humming around the cabin grows louder. A motor of some sort. Machine, I think—not a car. Curiosity gets the best of me as I scramble out of bed, pulling an old rodeo T-shirt from Kasey’s dresser and shoving my head and arms through it. The hem reaches halfway down my thighs and it’s baggy enough to hide my stomach, so I don’t bother with pants.
There’s a mug of coffee waiting for me on the kitchen table and, by the looks of it, Kasey’s dumped all the creamer in Texas into it. A single white flower sits through the handle, one thatmatches a wild cluster growling along the bottom of the front porch steps.
The smile that grows on my face is easily a mile wide.
Suddenly the sound outside is blaring. I move to the front door and swing it open, finding a shirtless man wearing a black cowboy hat and jeans, straddling a riding lawn mower as it moves along the fence line of the pasture. I squint, trying to see his face, and quickly realize it’s Rhett.
He must feel me watching him, because he turns to look at me, throwing a hand up in a friendly wave.
